The Dark Knight Returns
by PsychoBunny
Summary: With the war on crime still raging, Gotham is divided when a man calling himself the Riddler appears. Choas soon erupts into a war encompassing the hero and his past villians. The line has been drawn. In the end, where will the Batman stand? Post TDK
1. Chapter 1

Have no idea where this is going. I was completely inspired by this picture. .com/core/662/1_o350_

I felt the need to get this idea out of my head. So here it is.

* * *

The quiet night hummed a distance familiarity that greeted those who bothered to listen. It sang a elegant song of torment and anguish from a city that had felt the violent reverberations of anarchy and still had yet to recover. It was chaotic. It was monstrous.

But above all, it was bliss.

He could hear it ringing like a bell, playing a siren song that was unbearable to resist. Inspired, he grabbed his scattered notes and haphazardly tapped paper clipping above his desk and set to work at a diligent pace.

He could feel his mind turning with the possibilities, breathing life into his dust-accumulating projects that lay in disarray. The adrenaline pumped through his veins and filled his senses to the point of uncomfortable pleasure, possessing him in a way as nothing ever had.

Fully engrossed in his drawings and numbers, he disregarded the wind that blew through his open window and the mess he made by tossing irrelevant newspapers and articles aside. And as he began to finish his crucial detailing of his drawings, a strong, gusting wind blew straight through the window and knocked his pen out of his hand to the paper laden floor below.

Frustrated, he uttered a few obscenities and searched for his pen in the dim apartment lighting. He found the small, metal utensil lying on a single stack of newspapers; the pointer end aiming at the large, handsome picture gracing the front page. The man in the picture looked pristine albeit tense and cocky to boot. By all appearances, he looked every bit the hard-nosed, audacious lawyer the media had made him to be.

But Harvey Dent had been a fool.

So now, on the one year anniversary of the death of Gotham's most revered public servant, the media decided to commemorate the good deeds of an ambitious self serving, power driven man.

Gotham's white knight, indeed.

Pity, Dent had all the makings of greatness. He was just misguided by both his conventional and perverse sense of justice. He had been adamant in making examples of the villains of Gotham by making them pay for the corruption they had ravaged upon the city. However, he failed to realize it was people like him, tainted lawyers, cops, and judges alike, who were the true cause of Gotham's demise. And his error had cost him dearly.

Staring at the paper with more intent, curious green eyes hidden behind thick rimmed glasses glanced at the headlines. There, scrolled in big, bold letters read the name of the villain all of Gotham had come to despise and fear.

The Batman.

The name and everything the man attached to it represented left a bad taste in Edward Nygma's mouth. Batman had attempted to catapult Gotham back into the old days where Falconi's mob didn't rule the streets and cops were actually good guys. Yet all had stood in vain as Batman had been blamed for cavorting with the Joker and killing several people, including Dent. Still, this Batman character was a mystery.

Or was it misery?

Edward wasn't sure anymore. But one thing was clear, the Batman intrigued him.

With a sudden wicked and euphoric idea, Edward snatched the paper up and began to create crude drawings around the front page as a plan materialized. Rummaging through an old folder, he found old clippings of different words from numerous articles, each strip of the word expressed by a various color or font. And as he cut and glued single letters in an uneven pattern above the headline with eery glee, he created a masterpiece of deranged musings. His new headline reading

"Where is the Batman?".

Ah, he had disappeared all right, gone into hiding after that incident with the Joker and Commissioner. But Edward didn't just want to know where he was. He wanted to know who the Batman was.

Edward didn't crave just a name, mind you. Names were meager things that were simply a source of identification that was a fruitless example of failed uniqueness and monotonous conformity into a world of sycophantic exception. No, a name was of little consequence.

Who is the real Batman and what is his true motivation?

Edward wanted to know the limitations of the bat, his pains, his pleasures, his intellect, his physicality. Does the batman think as a normal man does? Can he truly will himself to disappear and reappear as the papers claimed he did? Could the batman be killed like a man or was he an indestructible symbol incapable of death?

Edward wanted to know all of these things and more. The Batman was a wonderful puzzle of complexities and Edward intended to solve him.

The unmistakable sound of breaking glass filtered its way into the tiny apartment and broke his concentration. Under normal circumstances, Edward would continue his work and pay no heed. However, the raucous ruffians who caused the incident insisted upon disturbing anyone within close proximity by yelling at one another.

"Quiet, will ya? Somebody's gonna hear." A young, jittery male voice chastised. The voices sounded close, probably a few doors down from where Edward lived.

"And whatta they gonna do? Call the cops? Cops don't come near the narrows no more." The words dripped with sarcasm and glee, spoken by a booming baritone with a distinct Brooklyn accent.

It was true; Edward thought to himself. But there were also far worse things to fear in the narrows than cops.

Beyond the racket, he could barely hear a rustle of movement, quick, coordinated, and perfectly planned, quiet as a mouse with defiant purpose. He doubted it was the method of those crude, novice thieves. They were far too engaged with the spoils of their reward then the glory of their actual conquest.

Then again, it could have been another thief acquaintance of theirs, tagging along for the ride.

It mattered little to Edward. Brushing off the idea and ignoring the robbery taking place, he buried himself deep within the menace of his sketches and numbers.

Until, the distinct rustle disturbed his peace once more, pronounced and undeniable. Whom ever did so, wanted it be known, and this time, it was followed by a series of whistles and cracks, like a quick crash of thunder.

"What the...?" The phrase barely left the Brooklyn man's mouth before another crack sliced the air. Then, a painful groan took its place, complete with the shaking of a heavy weight falling.

"You boys don't deserve to call yourselves thieves. You're loud, obvious, and arrogant. Amateurs, I'm sure. I'm surprised you haven't been caught yet." A smooth, feminine voice flowed with silken ease through the window, its manner both seductive and agitated.

"Get her, Charlie!" Simultaneously, a shot fired with a fraction of hesitation just as another sickening crack resounded out behind the back alley where the apartments faced; it was accompanied by a conspicuous shrill of a split. The man named Charlie screamed with deafening vibrato.

The female must have broken some sort of bone of poor Charlie's. Edward smirked.

"You little bitch!" The Brooklyn man screeched, hard pressed to cover the frantic and terrified tone of his voice.

"Now is that any way to talk to a lady?" The retort was sweet and sultry, blended together in a perfect harmony of menace and sensuality. The female was proving to be a tease.

With a ardent wail, the Brooklyn man set to pounding across the floor with all his might, probably running after his attacker. Meanwhile, Charlie's screams had sobered into pitiful drenched sobs.

A scuffle ensued. There was little Edward could decipher between the Brooklyn man's grunts, the continuous swishing of cracks, and the weight of the opponents being tossed around. Without warning, a sudden outburst broke the concentration of the fight. Another gun shot rang out as the clinking of fast treading feet ran across the grates of the fire escape and the Brooklyn man cursed incoherently.

It would seem the excitement had come to an end.

Until something dense landed on Edward's balcony.

"Did ya get her?" Exhausted, the Brooklyn man huffed in anger with undoubtedly far more wound to his pride than anything.

"Yea, I think so." Charlie voice trembled with disbelief and shock, most likely his first kill. And with the way those crooks were working, it wouldn't be his last.

"Well for your sake, I hope so." A boorish snort from Mr. Brooklyn then a stinking slap delivered to dear old Charlie.

Driven by the questionable item that landed outside his window, Edward left the sanctuary of his desk and crawled out to his balcony. There, in all its shiny, sleek leather glory, lied a fine crafted bullwhip. It was exquisite, to say the least, with a slender handle and a thick, elongated tail that slithered outwards to a fine tip.

Edward couldn't help himself but to horde the potent weapon in his grasp. With an item that appeared so delicate, one could wield such power and pain with a simple flick of the wrist.

Magnificent.

Glancing around for the source from which the whip had fallen, he spotted a small, black cat, crouched near the end of the balcony. Upon further inspection, Edward noticed the kitty was in attack stance, ready to take action. But as he motioned to use the whip to scare the little mongol away, the feline lifted its head and cried out in a pitching howl.

As soon as the feline started howling, it immediately stopped, pouncing from the balcony into the alleys in the dead of night. Funny, the howl sounded more like a call for something than a cry.

"I think I'll be taking that back now." The female with the smoky voice, the one that had a disagreement with the crooks earlier, melted from the shadows of the side building and perched comfortable on the side of Nygma's balcony.

Such a peculiar creature was she.

She wore a costume of sorts, a deep purple, form-fitting catsuit that was fashioned from leather, with a matching mask. Perhaps the most peculiar thing of all was the shape of her mask. For it was no ordinary mask, the details of the mask were styled to resemble that of a cat. Large, arching eye holes, with matching goggles that rested on top of her head, and wide, triangular ears completed her look. Irrefutably, it was designed to conjure the most illicit thoughts from nearly any man.

Thankfully, Nygma was not just any man.

So, he deemed it only appropriate that the whip's owner was just as exquisite and rare as the item itself. With that thought, Edward just couldn't allow her to leave without playing a game first. She was far too interesting.

"My lady, you shall have your whip back if you will just answer me a question." Tickled, he emitted a cheeky tone. Maintaining his eagerness was harder to manage with a live participant than that of his usual game of puzzles and mind tricks. He held tight to the whip as to state that he meant business.

The tilt of her head reciprocated her doubt and incredulous of situation. But there was something else. She seemed almost...intrigued. "And why would I answer your question when I could just as easily make you give me what I want?" The cat was not amused.

"Because by nature, cats are curious. And I know you're curious about my question." He took a risk by pinpointing the natural tendencies of the animal she personified. If she truly honored the embodiment of a cat then she also displayed their characteristics.

Her eyes flashed a brilliant amber color and her eyebrows drew back as an inquisitive and defensive instinct. "Suppose, I am interested in your question. What kind of question would it be?" She remained alert but unafraid of any challenge he posed.

"How about a riddle of sorts?" His mind was afire with all sorts of rhymes and little mind benders they could play but he resorted to using a clever riddle to encompass the whole of his satisfaction.

"You want me to answer a riddle." It was a statement, not a question. Her doubts were resurfacing. He needed to recapture her attention or stake a chance of gaining her ire.

"Indeed, I do. I just wish to satisfy my own question in knowing if you are as worthy of an advisory in intellect as you are in agility." His flattery felt contrived and forced but contained a silver lining of honesty. As sincere as he might have been, he was awkward in bestowing compliments as it was a rare occasion.

The cat woman seemed perturbed. Edward assumed it was attributed to his keen sense of deduction, seeing as he could gauge her nature. However, the slight slant of her eyes as she sized him up preserved her curiosity as strong as ever and there was only one way to sate the nerve. He knew she would eventually give in; it was simply a matter of time. "If I answer your riddle, I get my whip back."

"That's the deal." The fun was just about to begin.

"Then tell me this riddle of yours." It was her informal initiation of agreement.

"Ah, I knew you couldn't resist." He punctuated his savored moment with a halted breath and pressed both hands together, his forefingers resting against his lips. "Please, tell me if you can, what is as shady as the black cat, surrounding you and me? And the more you have of it, the less you see?"

The feline of a woman stood there unmoving, shoulders back, eyes half closed, and her claws gently rapping against the iron edges of the balcony. He could practically visualize the wheels in her head spinning at a rapid rate, contemplating every facet of his riddle to figure out the answer.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock. Do keep in mind that we may not have all evening." He jested with false consideration, impatient to learn her answer. In hindsight, he should have set a time limit to make the riddle more challenging but there was always next time.

"Believe me, you do not want this to take all evening or else, I'll show you my agile skills first hand." She chewed her bottom lip in concentration. "Hmm, black as a cat. The more you have, the less you see." Her mind was completely wrought with theories of what the answer could be. But as she continued to develop her musings, Edward swore he heard her purring. "Darkness. The answer is darkness." She responded in triumph and pride.

With as slight quirk of his lips in the beginnings of a smile, he handed the whip to her with an open palm, sated of his own need for a game. "Ah, very good. As for your prize, your whip returned back to you. You are an intellectual opponent, Ms...? " It would be a shame if Edward never knew her name. She was a decadent, little creature.

"Call me Catwoman." With lightning fast reflexes, she snatched the whip from his hand, uncertain if this was all some ploy to trap her.

"Catwoman." The name rolled off his tongue with ease and familiarity. He decided he liked it. "Well, I'm Edward Nygma. I do hope to see you around, sooner rather than later." With a small, vague laugh, he bowed his head politely and dismissed himself as he crawled back into the window of the apartment.

For her part, Catwoman didn't feel the need to comment, almost as if something like this transpired everyday. She simply flexed her hands, readjusted her whip on a belt she had around her waist, and jump from the balcony into the awaiting night.


	2. Chapter 2

Possibly my fastest update ever. This is kind of a filler chapter to set up the events for later chapters.

And I have a **very important Author's Note at the end of the chapter. PLEASE BE SURE TO READ!**

I will update my profile page not long after I updated the story. Hope you guys enjoy!

* * *

Commissioner.

The title sounded alien, albeit familiar.

Commissioner Gordon.

Though Jim was still learning to adjust to his new ranking, the title overall felt...right.

It was interesting looking back now. Just two years ago, he had been a lower ranking Sergeant and with the help of a presumed vigilante, he had been promoted to Commissioner.

Course, just because the title of Commissioner changed hands didn't mean Gotham City had witnessed any distinct changes of progress. The mayor had shown considerable ambivalence towards the inner turmoil of the justice system since the attempt on his own life, Commissioner Loeb's death, Judge Surrillo's murder, and Harvey's downfall.

Therefore, the mayor left Gordon busy cleaning the streets of Gotham where Mr. Dent and Ms. Dawes had left off. The mob had all but disbanded after Maroni's untimely demise in a car incident and no one dared to re-ignite the dying flame of the mob gang after Joker had taken great amusement in picking off several head leaders.

Still, the mob's shadow of power didn't stop the would-be criminals from wrecking havoc on Gotham. Worst of all, many of the murderers and psychos that escaped Arkham two years ago were still on the loose, still slumming the decrepit alleys of the narrows.

However, in the past year, Gordon had been vigilant about putting the criminal back behind bars where they belong, including dirty lawyers and cops in the unit. And Gordon had only been able to do it with the aid from the same vigilante who had saved his life.

Yet that presumed vigilante was the one that Gordon was chasing. The Batman was seen as the reason for the chaos and the outbreak of vicious crimes throughout the city, even accused of several murders. And because of that, the people of Gotham were demanding his head.

With a sudden urgency, a knock pounded Gordon's office door. Before Jim could say a word edgewise, a rookie cop burst into the solemn office quarters, his voice an odd color of panic. "Commissioner? There's a disturbance in the lower east quadrant of the narrows. Dispatch just got a call from a frantic lady, describing one of the Arkham Asylum escapees."

Gordon didn't hesitate to react. Years of service and training to uphold the law had allowed him the focus to act and the clarity to think in such situations.

Hurried, the Commissioner pushed his chair back and rushed past the frazzled officer. "Come on, Chavez, let's move out." These days, any distraction that kept Gordon from arresting the Batman proved to be worthwhile.

* * *

The rotten smell of overflowing garbage permeated the air all around the sidewalks, a welcoming change from the smoggy air of the rooftops where he frequented.

He recognized these streets, knew them like the back of his hand. It was the bane of Gotham's existence; the scorned abomination that was a blatant sore on the city's eye. On this side of the bridge, there were no rules and no regard to authority.

Someone had once said that even the Batman feared the darkness of the narrows.

But it meant so much more to him than that. It had been the site where he drew his first blood and it would be the site of more to come.

Fortunately for him, the festering malice and pungent fear within the narrows made it the perfect breeding ground for some late night fun. Though, terrorizing that lady earlier in the evening had provided some marginal entertainment, he was looking for something a little more...naughty.

And he knew just the place.

Two blocks down on the corner of the street sat an old, abandoned orphanage. To any passerby, it seemed like an ordinary, rundown building that housed the homeless. But men who visited the narrows knew the orphanage really contained a debauch brothel just as criminals knew the brothel was a cover for street dealings in connection with the mob.

Yet somehow, he didn't think the mob mattered anymore.

Never a proponent of formalities, he barged straight through the creaky, wooden door, garnering the attention of the workers inside.

A half-naked woman with mussed hair and thick makeup stumbled out of a closed room and into the hallway, uncaring of her nudity and glassy eyed stare. "What the hell is going on? Who are you?" She seemed unsure if she should bother to call for help, attack him, or make a run for it. Either way, she couldn't do much of anything by the amount of drugs that were pumping through her system.

A man, her patron evidently, appeared behind her, his shirt still in tact but his trousers were missing. Ironically, he was wearing the remnants of a policeman uniform. "Come on, baby. My times not up yet." He voiced impatiently, using a harsh grip on her arm that was sure to leave bruises.

"Haven't I told your kind before not to come barging in here? It's hard enough keeping the cops away and even harder to keep them pleased." A haggard, elder lady with wise eyes bounded from the upstairs, her slender form slinking down the steps as if she had done so for decades. She reeked of cigarette smoke and a near palpable odor of numerous men; yet, her noble demeanor yielded a knowledgeable, crafty existence that only years of being a brothel's keeper could incite.

He wasted no time with minor chit-chat. He answered with a rough, gravelly voice."I want your best girl."

"Doesn't everyone? Listen, hun, she's busy with another client at the moment. But you're just in luck; we got a fresh one in this afternoon. You wanna break her in for me?" Her voice dripped with seduction, willing him to be enticed by her offer.

He snorted with distaste. It wasn't his first option but the girl wasn't a priority. He would take whatever he could get. Either way, they would suffer the same fate. "Fine."

"Follow me." Using a well manicured hand to coax him to follow, she directed him towards the upstairs and down a narrow hallway. "Second door on the left. If she does anything wrong, don't hesitate to show her the right way."

He made his way to the room without a sound, ready in anticipation for the fun to begin. Upon entering, he found the short, malnourished girl huddled near the window of the room, her slight build trembling. She turned slowly, her eyes wide with anxiety and trepidation. She sauntered towards him with a clumsy gawkiness, her body mimicking what she had been taught.

That's when he noticed the tell-tale needle marks on her arm.

She was drugged.

Well, it wasn't going to be much of a challenge like he had hoped but it would suffice.

She gestured him forward onto the bed, straddling his lap the moment he sat on the mattress. While she sat on his lap, he got a good look at her. Her limbs were small while her body and face still retained a certain roundness of youth. She couldn't have been older than sixteen years.

Young ones always had a tendency to be more squeamish. Maybe this would prove to be enjoyable after all.

"What's your name, big boy?" Her words slurred as she arched her chest forward provocatively yet her body still quaked on top of his. The drugs affected her enough to give her the courage to fulfill her duties but it belied her prominent fear.

"Bane." It had been his nickname on the street and in Arkham.

"Bane, what would you like my name to be?" She was reciting a script that had been memorized; he could hear it in the tremor of her voice.

"It doesn't matter." She would just be a nameless, faceless victim, much like the rest of them were.

"My name is Heather. T..tell me what you like." She seemed unsure of what to do with herself or with him. She kept squirming on his lap until he grabbed her hips to keep her still. He could gauge the alarm in her eyes, could sense her distress when she tensed at the contact.

"Let me show you." Rising from the bed in one movement, Bane tossed her onto her back against the mattress. Scrambling backwards, Heather's confusion became evident on her face and in her movements.

Bane leaned his head to the side and popped the crick in his neck.

"Let's play." Grabbing her ankle, Bane pulled her back to him. As she emitted a shriek, he wrapped a hand around her throat tightly, silencing the sound.

Heather clawed at his hand, desperate to pry him off of her. In response, Bane threw her against the wall, her left side making a sickening thud upon impact. Whimpering, she forced herself to sit up against the wall, shuttering from the effort she made. She opened her mouth to scream but no sound came except for the pathetic, guttural sounds of anguish, no doubt the doing of Bane's assault. Forcing herself with weak effort, Heather began to crawl across the floor to the door, careful not to use the left side of her body. She kept her head down in a submissive and victimized gesture as her tears streamed to the sodden floor below.

Bane smirked with malign intent, satisfied with his effort so far.

With slow, predator steps, he advanced, his hulking form, a good foot taller than her own, loomed over her like an awaiting plague of death.

The drugs in her system made her clumsy, her eyes dilated wide with disorientation and her limbs slipping haphazardly on the floor.

He snatched Heather up by her negligee as if she weighed nothing more than a doll, holding her limp body high in the air to survey his prize. She hissed feeling the shadow of pain in her body as he lifted her, her face paling when she came face to face with her assailant. Upon knowing her impending death was approaching, Heather croaked with all the pain and sorrow of a little girl lost in the shuffle. "Please, don't kill me..."

His voice was crude and unforgiving yet his tone had a joyful lilt. "What is the loss of one prostitute in the scourge of the narrows?" He cracked his first smile since the moment he had arrived. It was grimy and menacing. And something misplaced about it made Heather cringe all the way down to the toes.

His words struck a chord, bringing to mind memories of a loveless childhood and a drug addicted mother that had pimped Heather out for a fix. He was going to kill her and not a soul would care.

Cause who could love a flimsy, scrimp of a child prostitute from the narrows? As far as the people of Gotham were concerned, it was a sign of fate answering an inevitable call that would save her from a life confined by destitution and rotting in a hell hole like the brothel.

There was nothing left for her now except a life of mind-numbing whore or to die by the hand of a stranger named Bane.

Shutting her teary eyes tight, Heather sucked in a short breath and steadied herself, resigned to embrace the freedom of complete darkness when he struck her.

But as the seconds ticked by, she was struck by no such final blow. Instead, his attention had been diverted to the threshold of the open doorway. In the shadows of the derelict hallways stood the sleek silhouette of a figure, a female figure at that.

Though Heather could not see her face, the woman spoke in a commanding tone that would not be ignored, her voice authoritative yet soothing to the ears. "Is there a problem?"

Bane didn't miss a beat. "Not at all. I was just showing your new girl the ropes." It occurred to Heather that this was not the first time he had pulled such a trick. However, Heather feared that it might not register with the woman since the bruises that were sure to be on the young girl's body had yet to materialize.

The woman stood unrelenting, dubious of his claims. "Don't let me stop you. I'm just here to watch her progress."

Yet no one was as surprised by the woman's words as Heather.

Bane wound his arms around the limp girl with a firm grip to stifle the woman's temperament, a move that spoke volumes of barely restrained violence. "I don't think so. If you'll excuse us, we were just getting to the good part."

Unwelcome by Bane, the statuesque woman entered the room without permission, coming fully into the dim light. Heather eyes widened in with innocent relief and a spark of hope. The woman had been one of the more experienced prostitutes that had trained her earlier.

Her name was Selina.

Though Selina wore only a skimpy, black robe that covered the essentials, she stalked proudly around the room, her aura radiating a slight undertone of danger that hung in the air with discomfort. It reminded Heather of a tiger circling its prey. "I think you're done. You should leave."

"I have a better idea. How about you go back to your room and I'll let you live?" He bit off tartly, certainly in no mood to have a whore with attitude try to run him out.

"If you don't leave then I'll make you." Her voice held an acidic, undeniable threat as she circled around him with sly, formulated precision. She reached for an object curled around her waist.

"Try me." Honing and controlling his rage, Bane flung the meager girl aside as the monster inside him strained to be unleashed on the audacious prostitute. He rolled his neck around and straightened his shoulders, charging towards the autocratic minx with eagerness.

With stealthy reflexes, Selina maneuvered out of his direct path, passing by the swing of his fists with effortless grace.

A tug from her hip produced a cat o' nine tails, the likes of which she wielded with unmatched proficiency. Waving her arm and snap her wrist in a concentrated movement, the nine tails cracked with a vindictive attack as they struck Bane on the arm and torso. The result left his shirt sliced with angry, puckering red marks left in the wake of her assault.

"I won't ask you again. So leave or I promise the next blow will draw blood." The threat was not without promise as the stripes on Bane's torso began to throb in a dull soreness. He grunted in a loathsome manner, acrimonious that she could evade and then strike him so easily.

Bane lashed out again with balled fists and heavy arms, daring her to attack him.

Recoiling with a learned expertise, Selina avoided his wide, boorish punches by dodging and twisting in alternate directions to baffle him. With a sudden vigor, the cat o' nine tails lambasted Bane with ten fold the power of before.

Lifting his arm, the stocky Bane roared as the taunt leather of the tails wrapped around his arm, breaking the skin below several layers and producing trickles of blood. Grinning wickedly, he turned his arm further into the whip and wrenched her end further into him.

The force had Selina lurching forward but she held tight, unrelenting to his massive weight.

Thankfully, a distraction manifested itself and became her most beneficial move.

Blaring sirens of police cars echoed in the distance, nearing with loud clarity at every passing second. Edgy and alert, Bane cast a brief look out the window before he re-engaged eye contact with his opponent. Selina understood his body language as she herself had flirted with that same situation before. "Looks like your friends are coming." Her silky voice inadvertently pointed out the possibility that he could lose this fight, either because of her, the cops, or maybe both.

At least a dozen police cars could be heard fast approaching, their sirens a shrill, scathing sound to the damned of the narrows.

They came to a screeching halt a few doors down from the orphanage.

A breath of reluctance was the only indication that he had processed her words; then Bane released the whip.

"I'll see you again." It was a promise, not a request. He would finish what he started one way or another.

As he unwillingly withdrew from the fight and out the door, he crossed paths with the elder lady, the brothel's keeper, who rushed down the hallway in a panic, pounding on doors and screaming. "Police! It's the Commissioner! Police!"

Gathering her nine tails, Selina motioned to exit the premises when a outstretched hand captured her ankle to stop her. With fierce, unwavering eyes, she turned to find badly beaten Heather crawling on her belly, begging for a reprieve.

"Please, help me!" Heather's insufferable plea of weakness caused a nauseated, churning sensation in Selina's stomach. She had already saved the slip of a girl once. The older woman scoffed in apathy.

"Learn to help yourself first, kitten." Selina brushed off the comment and the young girl with courteous indifference, spoken like a true vamp of experience.

The fire exit on the side of the building had proved to be most useful, both with quiet escapes and late night rendevous. Yet in haste, most of the other women had forgotten its existence. So while cops were arresting and detaining prostitutes flooding out the front and back doors of the brothel, Selina performed her own disappearing act by climbing the iron grates and bounding to neighboring rooftops.

For her part, she was undetected by the lawmen but the small backpack she carried and her lack of clothing significantly slowed her pace. Though, she had thrown on her cat eyed goggles in order to counteract the blinding lights of the patrol cars and street lamps, Selina progressed only a mere block away before someone else caught up to her.

"So we meet again." That unmistakable voice uttered, followed by a giddy laugh that unsettled her nerves.

"Nygma." She breathed, disbelieving at the gall he had and surprised by his bold address. Their last encounter had only been three days prior.

"I'm pleased you remember. My, you are a striking. Though, I'm sorry to say, we couldn't meet in more formal attire." He nodded with a polite wave of his hand at her missing clothing. However, being exposed didn't faze Selina; it was his blatant approach that discomforted her.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was deep, compelling and questioning, all obvious signs of someone throughly annoyed.

"I would ask you the same. That place seems so...uncouth for such an exquisite person." Gesturing at the brothel, he strode with a superior air of arrogance and pride along the edge of the rooftop casually, keenly aware yet avoiding the danger of the building's height.

She didn't answer. It was her business and hers alone with how she chose to spend her nights, whether it be with a stranger or on the rooftops of Gotham.

He took her cue of silence as an invitation for continuous banter. "You don't strike me as the silent type. Tell me, Catwoman. What falls but never breaks? And what breaks but never falls?"

Her beautiful features contorted into a veil of distaste. "I don't have time for this." She pushed past him, disregarding his question and unceremoniously ending her part of the conversation.

"Come now, surely you can provide me with an answer. Here, as I am generous enough, I will allow you clue. The answers are on opposite ends of the same spectrum, all within the span of earth and time." Edward made a valiant effort to engage her by giving her an advantage, as if he might be doing her a favor, but to no avail.

"I don't know." His persistence was beginning to make her consider implementing the use of the cat o' nine tails on her hip.

"You don't know or you don't wish to answer?" He called her bluff outright.

"Both." Selina freely admitted to the admission, hoping to quell the disturbed man's sense of fun.

"What if I can offer you something in return for your answer?" The slight annunciation and innuendo was meant to leave her wondering, intrigued by what he could be offering.

"There is nothing you have that I want." It was her final reply. She didn't budge, using scarce movement even while she breathed. Perching on the precipice of the building, she prepped herself for the physical act of leaping the skyline terrain.

Whether he wanted to admit to her or not, she possessed a talent that he needed and he refused to forfeit her so carelessly. "Physically, no, I have nothing. But what I do have is a proposition. I know the mob is in dire need of assistance and I have an insurmountable hold on information that could provide some leverage."

Entice her, he did not. "I've dealt with the mob long enough, thank you."

"Then you must have a debt with them. It is the only conclusive answer as to why someone of your caliber would be in the mob's drug and prostitution ring." After the Catwoman character had vanished from his balcony, it set the wheels of Edward's mind in accelerated motion, a dangerous prospect indeed. Now, he simply needed her to aid in his devious idea. Therefore, if the cat wouldn't relent, he would use his gift of perception to win her over.

She stopped her survey of the pillaring roofs cold. Her body language read a dangerous level of agitation and discretion, her answer filled with bitter spite. "Careful where you tread, Nygma. I don't take kindly to accusations."

Ah, so he had struck a nerve. Perfect.

"Please, call me Riddler. And what I am offering you is the opportunity of a lifetime. You'll be free of the mob and receive due pay for your participation." Her nature reflected the value of freedom without allegiance above all else. If she truly was in cohorts with the mob, there was undoubtably a contract involved.

Thus, with the power of his leverage and in return for her sly abilities, the cat could free herself from the confinements of the mob.

However, for Selina, it all sounded too good to be true. Therefore, it meant there was a hefty price to be paid. "What's the catch?"

"I want your full cooperation and an answer to my riddle." He felt it was an adequate price. After all, she seemed akin to be quite the little unpredictable minx.

It was a steep price without a doubt and she compromised herself for no one. Still, she was willing to take the risk. "I promise you nothing. But I'll take you up on the offer." The icy tone of her voice signaled her stubbornness and refusal to change her mind.

Riddler understood that it was the best answer he would pry out of her. But there was still the matter of his other demand. "Only if you can answer my riddle."

She took a deep breath, mulling over the possibilities for more than a few moments. She made a few passing guesses that were less than spectacular in Edward's point of view but it finally clicked around the third answer. "Night and Day. Night falls and day breaks."

"Ah, yes. But my interest lies with only the first part of the answer. And if night is parallel with darkness as from your deduction in our earlier encounter...." The unfinished sentence drifted on the smoggy breeze of the midnight air as he waited patiently for her conclusive analogy.

"Then darkness falls." As much as it disconcerted her, Selina believed that she was actually starting to understand Nygma in some way.

The sinful grin creased his mouth in the enlightenment of a calculated scheme. "As darkness will fall on Gotham. Here's the plan...."

* * *

**Important Author's Note: **Just so you guys know **Bane has no significance in this story line.** I just threw him in there because I figured in the realistic Nolan universe of Batman, he would be the most appropriate kind of villian that would have already been locked up in Arkham prior to the first movie.

So don't expect him to have a big role in the story. Thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

Since I have a little time off from school, I decided to finish this chapter and update. Enjoy!

* * *

The small analog T.V. sat in the obscurity of the lounge of the disheveled police station, the fluctuating voice of Gotham Tonight's host Mike Engel could be heard booming in the background. "...There have been numerous reports of the so-called cat burglars striking several residents in Gotham's East End. However, the recent bout of careless thievery found the burglars caught in the act during a break in. Though no parties have been charged, Commissioner Gordon stated earlier today that the police have the suspects in custody and they are being questioned.

"And a new light shines on Gotham since the capture of the criminal that calls himself the Joker. Accused of at least a dozen felony charges, the Joker is set to stand trial on Thursday. Until which time, he will continue to be assessed for mental stability at the newly rebuilt Arkham Asylum…" Gathering his loose papers in front of him, Engel's voice trailed off with a dramatic measure, undoubtedly a flare to sustain his audience into waiting for the breaking news of the evening.

"And in other criminal news, an outstanding warrant is still in effect for the arrest of the Batman in connection with five homicides, including that of Gotham's own District Attorney Harvey Dent. If you have any information as to the Batman's whereabouts, we urge you to contact Gotham Police Headquarters immediately. Authorities have also strongly suggested you don't go near the Batman as he is armed and poses a threat…"

The rest of the news cast fell on deaf ears as Jim ignored the hustle and bustle of the shuffling papers and the disgruntled detainees and cops alike. This part of the job, the flood of paper work and technical reports, seemed so monotonous compared to the rush of patrolling the streets of Gotham at night.

Granted, being out of the direct line of fire was safer, but it made no guarantees. Still, Barbara had begged him not to put his family in any more harm than he already had, and Jim didn't dare argue with her. Their marriage was still on thin ice after the whole Dent incident and it seemed to only get worse when his son started having nightmares.

Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose, an anxious twitch he had long ago developed to cope with the strains of being a police officer.

"I tell you, we didn't do it! We've been framed." One of the accused cat burglars cried in a pathetic plea.

Both men had been railing on about a woman dressed like a cat and carrying a whip. According to their story, she was the real culprit behind the burglaries.

"Commissioner?" A distant voice called.

"Chavez." Jim acknowledged the rookie with a polite nod.

"T…There's something you might want to see." His strained hesitation made Jim's stomach lurch. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Chavez gestured at the T.V. in disbelief.

The usually conservative, if not arrogant, Engel appeared uneasy and confused by a recent news development being fed to him via earpiece. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I am receiving word that there is breaking news in the downtown area…" At a loss for words, an amazing feat within itself, Engel pressed his earpiece further into his ear as if to verify he was hearing correctly.

Afterwards, he appeared to regain his composure, if only to relay the news back to the audience. "…We have just received news that there is a suspicious package right outside of City Hall with what appears to be a demand attached. No word on what might be in the package but security detail has reported the visibility of wires. Everyone is being told to stay clear of the area until police are notified…"

No wonder Engel seemed shaken. The station building was adjacent to City Hall. And as if on cue, all the phones for the department started ringing simultaneously.

All eyes turned to Gordon with baited expectation, awaiting his command.

The role of commissioner was far too easy to slip into. "Lieutenant, alert Johnson and the bomb squad. Alright, we have to secure the area and evacuate everyone in City Hall for precautionary measure. I want this thing contained. Everybody, move out."

This was not how he had planned to finish his shift tonight.

* * *

Edward waited outside the door of the old meat packing plant, his palms sweaty with anticipation.

For an unassuming man like Nygma, the dark alleyways and dim street lights of downtown Gotham had never been intimidating before. But when loitering outside mob headquarters and facing the hefty challenge of gaining the mob as an ally, perceptions change rather quickly.

Course it failed to help matters when his accomplice had yet to show.

Out of habit, he glanced at his watch and tapped it to assure the battery hadn't died.

Nope, it was in perfect functioning order.

A stocky middle aged man dressed in a business suit bypassed Nygma without a second glance. His concentration seemed diverted elsewhere as he entered a shiny, steel side door. An oddity of the building considering the wall was a dingy rust color from years of long ago usage and subsequent neglect.

The man was too busy grunting obscenities about a new guy to notice the auburn-haired stranger inching closer to the entrance.

The dumpster proved a sufficient hiding place for scrawny Nygma as the steel door revealed a large, muscular man asking for a password. The business man muttered something that sounded like "False Face Society". Edward recognized the name only because he had done some digging.

In recent months, a rumor filtered its way through Gotham's underground that a new man had appointed himself the crime boss of what was left of the mob, a disowned aristocrat named Roman Sionis. He had been a lackey for the mob for years but seized the opportunity to promote himself when Maroni died and the higher ranking mobsters failed to take lead.

In order to restructure the mob, Sionis has taken it upon himself to re-evaluate objectives and strategies, renaming it the "False Face Society".

The door closed after allowing the man passage.

Edward emerged from his hiding place and risked one last look to the rooftops.

No sign of Catwoman. He would have to go it alone.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door with a resounding bang.

* * *

Getting through security was no problem; it was the Neanderthal that rough handled him that put a damper on his dignity. The brute had asked for any weapons and even with an honest reply, it didn't deter his objective to pat Nygma down and push him through a metal detector.

In a room of lethal men, the mob seemed convinced that the most dangerous thing one could carry was a gun.

Edward glanced around with silent disgust. Physicality was vastly overrated.

"Who's the deadbeat?" Some lower level lackey's vain attempt at humor but valiant none the less. Still, in this room, no one seemed amused.

Curt yet distinguished; Nygma introduced himself with little shame. "My name is Edward Nygma. I have come to discuss business with Roman Sionis."

The room stilled with lethal silence, a promising sign of violence. Every eye turned from Edward to Roman with curious and frightening expectancy.

"And what business do I have with you?" Roman asserted his authority within the room by speaking in a composed, triumphant voice.

"Perhaps he's come to join the mob?" Somewhere one of the criminals spouted the malicious slur as a joke. Nobody cracked a smile except Edward.

Edward laughed gaily at the notion, his lanky frame shaking with flippant mirth. "Cruel irony has degraded you pretentious mobsters into con artists that peddle counterfeit drugs on the streets for a fraction more than their worth. While I appreciate the generous offer, I much rather be a deadbeat."

Livid, Roman lurched from his seat with such force that it knocked his chair backwards. "If you've come to insult us, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place. Tony, show the man how we do business." A tall, staunch man roughly three sizes larger than Edward stormed past the tables with heavy, daunting steps.

Unsure that the meeting was working in his favor, a peculiar look of unfamiliar panic swept over Edward's face as the criminal caught him off guard. As Nygma held his hands up in an instinctual response, Tony roughly grasped the weaker man's forearm, twisting it behind Edward with alarming pressure.

"Now, now, we can talk this over. I know a riddle or two that can be easily assimilated even by the likes of you." Whether it was genuine insult or courtesy, the offer only seemed to anger the bodyguard more as he forced Edward's face into the smooth surface of the tabletop.

"I've come to you with an offer of assistance! I can guarantee your perpetual reign over Gotham if only you'll give me the opportunity!" The questionable man's body squirmed with helpless abandon; his dark auburn head remaining firmly crushed into the table with the help of the brut named Tony.

"Then you better talk fast. I don't know how long Tony can restrain himself…" A silencing snap deterred Roman's words and Tony cried out with a piercing wail.

A sleek, dark figured descended from the barriers of the ceiling; a woman in a leather cat suit wielding a whip. Tony released Nygma to craddle his arm.

With a more skilled accomplice on his side, Nygma gathered his wits about him and resumed with his playful jaunting. "Now gentlemen, Kings and queens may cling to power and the jester's got his call but, as you may discover, the common one outranks them all."

"What is this?" Roman's patience was at a boiling point.

"Think of it like a game if you will." Unbuttoning the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt, Edward rolled up the edges to reveal a vertical tattoo on each forearm. Tattoos that was reminiscent of the Zodiac symbols.

The notion bothered Roman more than anything else about the odd man.

Tony was still incapacitated, holding the broken remain of his arm. "And if I don't wish to play?" Roman was about to resort to the glock in his jacket holster.

"Perhaps my associate can persuade you." Nygma motioned at Catwoman. It wasn't an issue of strength, simply skill over matter.

"Your girl can't take us all." Roman's hand rested on the edge of his jacket.

"Try me." Catwoman retorted; it was a daring challenge that begged the use of brute force.

"My pleasure." In a flurry of motion, Roman drew his gun as five other men in the room stood, also drawing fire on the intruders.

Edward managed to duck, dodging the pathway of the bullets. Catwoman snapped her wrist with a sharp velocity, sending the tail of the whip at a horizontal angle and disarmed four men straight away. A shower of stray bullets rained in the room as the whip cracked with a furious intent and Roman found himself with a sliced cheek and an empty hand.

Catwoman handled the men without a problem but not without injury. She sustained a gunshot to the far left side of her torso, right above the hip, and a graze of a few bullets. Still, her staunch body language didn't change.

Edward stood and continued without a hitch. "I think we've proven our point. Now, I propose a truce. I can rid you of the Batman once in for all and in turn, you and your…companions help me break into Arkham and the data mainframe of Wayne Enterprises."

Spurned, Roman spat a gob of blood in front of Edward's feet. "Why do you want to break into Arkham and Wayne Enterprises?"

Offended but ever refined, Nygma laid out the ground rules in the simplest terms. "I provide the brains, and you provide the brawn on my terms. I'll get rid of the Batman. No questions asked."

"What about her?" Roman sized Catwoman up. He had underestimated her, a mistake he wouldn't soon repeat.

"She works for me now." Catwoman slide a harsh glance to Nygma, his comment stinging.

"So what do you suggest we do in the meantime?" Roman growled, vengeful that the man was directing the meeting for his own purposes.

Nygma flashed a sinister smile. "Wait. The wheels have already been put into motion."

* * *

Gordon stood front and center of the barricades near City Hall, lingering there until the bomb squad gave the go ahead.

Johnson, the bomb squad leader, came bounding up to the barricade. "Commissioner, everybody's been evacuated and we've secured the area."

Gordon released a heavy sigh and adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses. "Then tell the investigators to scour the premises for any leads. And Johnson, well done."

With a curt, grateful nod, Johnson left to relay the message to the investigators while Gordon moved toward the wayward briefcase. The bomb squad had taken the liberty to open the case with great care because of visible wires.

But the wires were dummies, and the suitcase was empty, except that of a large question mark carved on the inside lining.

Still, the real mystery was the note attached to the suitcase.

Slipping on a pair of rubber gloves, Gordon stooped beside the briefcase and fingered the letter with a gentle hand, cautious of what it could be.

The young Chavez made his way to Gordon. "Commissioner, people that were in the building are claiming they saw somebody drop off the briefcase, and the men are wondering what you want to do about it."

Gordon didn't answer right away; his concentration deviated by the letter he was scanning.

Puzzled, Gordon answered with the phrase on the tip of his tongue. "Kings and queens may cling to power and the jester's got his call but, as you may discover, the common one outranks them all."

Confused as to what he meant, Chavez stumbled over his words. "S…Sir?"

Gordon turned attentive blue eyes on the rookie, not certain of anything. "It's what the letter says."

"What does it mean?" Chavez blinked, mulling over the strange phrase for an answer.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out." Gordon turned on his heel and headed for the patrol car, turning to Chavez as he did so. "Tell the men to question anybody who may have witnessed anything until we can figure this out."

Gordon knew only one person who could decipher the message and he was going to see him right away.

* * *

As she entered through the heavy metal doors, she watched through the eyes of another life, another lie.

The guard asked her for I.D. She handed it to him with numb hands.

She had just put the finishing touches on the I.D. earlier today. His eyes passed over it, concentrating more on her face than her name. He looked at her from head to toe and she felt her skin crawl with distaste. Men were all the same.

His false sympathy meant less to her than the way he ogled her. "That's a helluva case you got. Proceed." The grating sound of a buzzer signaled entrance into the gated corridor where more guards were standing patrol.

She passed through a series of metal detectors and scanners. Security was as tight as she had expected.

Soon, she came in direct contact with the doctor.

An attractive blonde woman accosted her with preliminary information. "You must be the defense attorney, Miss Rachel Dawes, correct?"

Rachel, if that was her name, nodded. "I'm here to represent my client: inmate number 27649."

"I'm Dr. Harleen Quinzel, an Arkham residential psychiatrist. I assume you recieved my report and my suggestions for the trial." She paused, her cherub cheeks filling with warmth. "Forgive me for asking but didn't you originally work for the D.A.'s office?"

Rachel paused, tentative to answer the delicate question. "I did but…after Harvey's death, I found it less dangerous to defend criminals than to prosecute them."

"I understand." Harleen's voice was laced with genuine empathy. "As for the case, it is my obligation to warn you that even after the therapy, your client is still not stable. So he maybe…unresponsive to questions." Though it was validated information, Rachel felt like she was being lectured.

"You've done your job, Dr. Quinzel. Now, please allow me to do mine." Dawes' audacious response wavered along the fragile line of being professional and being abrasive. It was difficult to decipher.

Either way, Dr. Harleen Quinzel felt slighted.

But the lawyer was right. The sooner she did her job, the sooner Harleen could go back to her patient and resume the therapy. Biting her tongue in chagrin, Harleen nodded and unlocked the heavy metal door.

As the door opened, Ms. Dawes' eyes focused on the glaring orange jumpsuit under the harsh florescent lights. Lean silver cuffs bounded the arms and legs of her client. The chain attached to the cuffs snaked around the chair several times to disappear into the confinements of the table, a deafening proclamation that this prisoner was an immediate threat.

Joker sat in the middle of the room, uninterested that he had been removed from his cold cell to sit in the cement chamber of the interrogation room. Though it may have been a place of negotiation, the animosity and unease hung thick in the air as if it was still the padded cell of a homicidal maniac.

Stepping aside to allow the lawyer to bypass her, the psychiatrist announced Ms. Dawes to her client as she entered the room. "You have a visitor. A Miss Dawes is here to see you."

There was no visible change in his demeanor to acknowledgement the lawyer, nothing except the mocking upward tug of his lips that could be described as a smirk.

His face would strike terror in the heart of a lesser person. Though his face was void of any makeup, it didn't diminish the affect of the jagged, demented scars that widened his already eerie smile.

The deprecating smile that was consequently carved into each side of his cheek was as disturbing and devious as the man underneath it. That is, if he could even be rightly called a man; menace seemed a more appropriate term.

As the attorney entered the room, his dark, void eyes glossed over the table with casual agitation, his line of sight directed at no one in particular.

He noticed the good doctor first, aware that her skin appeared flushed; her lips had a tinge of rouge and her eyes were dark with blackened eye shadow today. A welcome change as her visage had been void of any makeup since the duration of their five week intensive therapy sessions.

The corner of his lip twitched with a sick satisfaction. Imitation was the sincerest form of flattery; it wouldn't be long before Harleen broke.

The doctor lingered in the doorway a fraction longer than necessary, her cool blue eyes wavering from Dawes back to Joker.

Dawes wasted no time, "That will be all, Doctor."

Harleen whispered something inarticulate under her breath and left without a word. Miss Dawes' lips twitched, amused.

The moment passed as quickly as it had come and the attorney returned to her task at hand, turning to her client with bravado.

He remained unmoving and calm as if he had been anticipating this meeting for awhile.

"I'm Rachel Dawes and I'll be your defense attorney." She paused for a fraction of a moment, allowing him to process the information. "Ms. Quinzel, your psychologist, reported that you have a dissocial personality disorder and a touch of schizophrenia. She seems to think that the insanity plea would be the best route. I think otherwise…"

Standing, she placed her briefcase within arm's reach on the table and popped the hinges. Joker leaned back in his chair and puckered his lips in satirical thought.

Lifting his cuffed hands, he pointed an accusing finger at her. "I threatened the real Miss Dawes once. And you're…not…her." He spoke past harsh annunciations that sounded like biting suspicion. Still, he seemed intrigued with this new discovery, if only for the moment.

She didn't bother to conceal her identity. "You're right, I'm not." Truth might make conversation with a psychopath more tolerable.

"Then why are you here?" It didn't escape her perception that he failed to ask who she was. It would take some level of concern for himself or about her in order to care for such details.

She held no hesitation with the answer. "I'm here to offer you a better deal."

"Really?" His tone hitched slightly, doubtful but curious all the same. True to his nature, he began to fidget with slight impatience, as if he had places more pressing to be and things more important to do.

Turning, she circled the table to better assess him as both an incarcerated convict and a calculating predator. "I'm here on behalf of my colleague. He believes that you are capable of ridding a pest situation." Her pitch lowered to a smoky quality, a pitch perfect talent she had acquired over time.

He snubbed her invitation and bluntly reminded her of hinders in her plan. "Listen, not that it doesn't sound…riveting. But unless you can get the guards and that tasty little doctor to cooperate,…you're wasting my time." His voice grew gradually coarse with agitation at her insistent haughtiness, emphasizing his displeasure in elongated words.

A slow, meticulous smile creped the corners of her lips as she ran her fingers across the briefcase. "I thought you might say that. So I brought some contraband to entice you." She lifted the lid and faced it in front of him.

Rolling his eyes with unmistakable apathy, he took a peek inside.

Inside, there was a stack of ordinary papers, but a portion of the case lining had been pulled out, tucked behind it was his contraband.

A dark purple trench coat and slacks with an amethyst-colored shirt stared back at him.

He clicked his tongue with a defiant air. "You forgot the gloves."

"Should I take that as a 'yes'?"

He leaned forward with sudden eagerness. "You think I'd rather stay here instead?" He gestured at the walls around him. "Tell your…colleague that I'll take him up on the offer."

"He'll be pleased." In a bout of teasing, she toyed with his lack of response. "Don't you want to know who he is? who I am? or the reason why he wants your help?"

He scrunched his nose in passing negligence. "Not really."

"Well, for future reference, it's not Rachel; you can call me Selina."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **At this point in the story, I'm unsure if Harleen will have an impact on the story. I threw her in there because I love the Harley Quinn character from the Batman animated series and I felt it would be appropriate since Joker was stuck in Arkham anyways.

Kudos if you recognized Roman as a villian from the comics!

If you're curious about the answer to the riddle, you can PM me. If you can wait, then the answer will be in the next chapter. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

After much consideration, Gordon concluded that the threat was never geared at City Hall. It had been meant for the county courthouse that was parallel to the building.

Disarming the potential bomb had taken precedence over indicating details such as exact location and placement. Thus, deceitful facts that were dismissed with initial ease later seemed conspicuous to a trained eye.

The Commissioner and the handful of active detectives on the scene took note that the suitcase was on the edge of the grassy knoll in proximity to Gotham's courthouse, too close to be coincidence. The armed guard on duty at the courthouse claimed he saw a mysterious figure stop midway across the two buildings, drop the suitcase, and jump into the passenger seat of a running car.

The guard knew it was highly suspect, and went into immediate response by investigating the case. The resulting reports from the news were the cause of the suitcase remaining on City Hall property.

Already the burden was being thrust upon the adjusting Commissioner to figure out why somebody would threaten the courthouse, as declared by the mayor with apparent vigor.

Gotham County courthouse had seen its share of unsympathetic criminals and the corrupt lawyers who defended them walk through its heavy doors. For the better half of the past twenty years, the justice system had been suffocated with the persistent damage that the mob had wracked upon it.

Though the courthouse's affected court verdicts had been a driving factor for the increasing crime in Gotham City, it had never seen the likes of the entire police force at its steps, combing City Hall and the surrounding area because someone saw it fit to scare the whole city and mock them with an arbitrary riddle.

The entire front half of City Hall was swarming with wayward officers, anxious bomb squad and disgruntled S.W.A.T. team members. If a bomb threat wasn't bad enough in Gotham City, impatient law enforcement was worse.

To offset the exasperation of the investigation, Commissioner Gordon directed the officers into questioning witnesses that may provide notable statements and possible leads. A couple of jostling commands had the squadron in a frenzy of activity, tedious but valuable nonetheless.

The gleaming red and blue lights of the patrol cars were still bustling with activity and proved to be too conspicuous for Gordon's intentions.

With adept ease, he moved near the edge of the barricades away from prying eyes.

One of the new detectives from the Major Crimes Unit was left in charge of investigating the crime scene while the commissioner busied himself with finding any more clues surrounding the premises. Well, at least, that's what Gordon had told the detective.

He was actually planning to follow up on the most substantial lead with a knowledgeable colleague.

Near the secluded area of City Hall's large pillars, Gordon took one final peek around to survey the area to assure that no one was too intrusive. Tugging at the edges of his trench coat, he placed both hands on the top of his hip while the faint rustling of movement behind him drew his attention.

Batman was here.

"I was hoping you would come." He breathed with a pang of relief and slight apprehension. Batman was still a wanted man; if caught cavorting with him, Gordon could be arrested for accessory after the fact. So their meetings had to be brief and discreet.

He turned his head to the side to address the masked crime fighter.

"I saw the news broadcast." The voice rasped in a low baritone somewhere behind Jim. The Batman's figure was indistinguishable from the cloak of darkness the building provided.

Gordon digressed. "I had Engel make another announcement that the package was a contained incident; the mayor will address the public tomorrow once we know more, but my best men are investigating."

"You think it's contained?" The question wasn't laced with as much surprise as suspicion.

"For now, it is. But I don't want a repeat incident because next time it could be worse." Any much worse and Barbara might have him resign as Commissioner.

The masked man gave a gruff hum, an indication of understanding. "Do you have anything for me?"

"Yea, there was a message attached to the suitcase. Here." The commissioner turned to face him, handing him the pristine parchment of paper with gloved hands. "I haven't been able to figure it out yet."

Batman read the scrawled message. Silently, he shifted his form, as if unsettled. "Does anybody else know about Dent?"

Gordon knew he wouldn't like the motivation of what spurred the question. "Not to my knowledge. Why?"

"Joker kept calling Harvey his 'ace in the hole', and the answer to the riddle is ace."

"You think someone knows." Fearful concern was evident in Gordon's statement. If someone knew of their prudent lie, then everything they had worked to accomplish could be unraveled.

"I'm not sure. Run a diagnostic on the suitcase to see if it's Harvey's. I'll need to analyze the paper to give you any fingerprints and data readings." The Batman's demeanor shifted; he was being vague and brisk with his information. They both knew it, but Gordon wasn't about to accuse him of anything, less there be repercussions.

"We can do that back at our lab." Gordon trusted Batman but also needed his trust in return.

"I can have the results to you by tomorrow morning." The request was a forceful admission, his apparent way of commanding Gordon's cooperation.

Gordon released a heavy laden breath, reluctant. "Alright, but I need the results as soon as you know anything."

The commissioner request was meet with calm silence, the dark knight's unconvincing answer of agreement. Not Jim's idea of a confirmation, but it would do.

Against the pillars, Gordon heard the shift of material as the hollow wind broke the air where the Batman had stood.

Like a drifting shadow in the night, he was gone.

Jim mustered enough time to swallow past the nervous lump in throat before a patrol officer ran towards him with urgent news.

"Sir! Detective Bullock wants you immediately. They've found a body." The young man's assertion was second only to Gordon's response. The older gentlemen ran past the officer to the site where the Major Crimes Unit detectives huddled near the edge of brush between City Hall and the courthouse.

Gordon could see nothing beyond the brush of a few bushes and the bodies surrounding the additional crime scene; however, a new detective, Harvey Bullock, took it upon himself to fill in the details for the Commissioner. The bulky, round detective appeared at his boss's side with a bumbling haste. "We have a man in his mid to late 30s, dressed in what appears to be a business suit. The investigators found some I.D. in his pockets; name is Thomas Wilson. He's a criminal defense lawyer for the county."

In the deep end of the bushes, a medium built man lied sprawled across the dirt, prone and face down.

Crime scene investigators were on the scene awaiting the Commissioner's orders as they crouched near the body with primed hands. "Sir?"

With piercing blue eyes still boring into the outline of the shady man, Gordon nodded with a certainty that betrayed his feverish apprehension. Tensed and ready for what may lie beneath the man's exterior appearance, Jim gave the word.

"Turn him over."

The investigators took great care in turning the man over as not to disturb any physical evidence. As the victim's façade came into full view, a startled coroner scrambled away from the body with an alarming yell.

The Commissioner sucked in a sharp breath.

The white face paint had been smeared with a crude hand, leaving splotchy marks across the victim's face. The lips were darkened with red lipstick that mirrored a familiar, eerie smile that creased from one end of his cheek to the other. The eyes were black with charcoal remnants like the deepest color of sin.

It wasn't the victim's face anymore. It was the face that had terrorized Gotham; the face Gordon knew well, the face of a madman.

"My God." Gordon's stressed declaration of surprise hung thick in the air while the crowd around him fell silent.

Sober with a hint of scorn, Bullock spoke his unwarranted opinion. "That's some bad paint job. You think it's the mob?"

"No, the mob's not brazen enough to do something like this on their own." Not brazen enough unless they had found a new head of the pack, a leader as destructive as Joker. However, Gordon had his doubts.

Somebody was trying to send a message. The only question was: what was the message?

Lieutenant Bullock started spouting off theories, some which were valid. "Maybe a rogue?"

Jim had considered the possibility. "Probably. But we'll have to look into it to see if it's connected to the suitcase or the message."

"Commissioner." An investigator called out with a pressing tone that indicated something of importance.

Gordon hesitated, unsure if he was being addressed. Loeb had held the title of Commissioner when Jim was still in the police academy and was still at the forefront of Gordon's mind when the title was employed.

His level gaze met the hard, steel eyes of the department's most skilled coroner as the man pointed out a new finding. "There's a card pinned to the victim's jacket with writing on it."

"Let me see it." Fingering the card with care, Gordon turned the card over.

It was a Joker playing card. On the back side, there was the same scrawl that matched the previous note.

Bullock peered over his shoulder with a wary eye. "What's it say, Commish?"

"It says 'When are playing cards dangerous?'" As an involuntary motion, Gordon's jaw tightened and his shoulders straightened, preparing for the actions he was about to take.

The answer eluded the rotund lieutenant; though, he didn't put very much thought into it. "Huh, I'm not sure if I've heard that one before."

With brisk steps, Gordon walked away from the crowd and directed Bullock in tone that left no room for argument. "I have. Lieutenant, have the men surround and secure Arkham. Nobody gets in or out, do you hear me? I'll alert security inside."

"Sure boss. But why?" He was sweating bullets already trying to keep up with Gordon's pace.

"Because the answer is 'when the Joker's wild'."

* * *

Harleen began to tap her finger along the clipboard as she waited in the narrow corridor outside the interrogation room.

Frustration was beginning to edge its way into her subconscious through her show of impatience; she could sense it. After all, a psychiatrist could check her chart only so many times to reassert her scheduled sessions.

Dr. Quinzel glanced at the clock for the fourth time through the bars of the security entrance, a scathing reminder that hers was no ordinary day job. Precious time was wildling away from therapy the longer Ms. Dawes stuck around.

The petite blonde strained to hear beyond the silence of the concrete barriers; however, the walls were so thick that nothing, voices nor incremental sounds, could be heard outside the room.

One of the new guards noticed Harleen's deep meditation while staring with shy intent at the impenetrable door across from her.

"Plan to diagnose the door with anything, doctor?" The young man tried to rouse the attractive psychiatrist with a joke, clumsy as it might have been.

Her voice was mild and uninterested, but her eyes didn't stray. "Hm? Oh, no. I'm just waiting to talk with my..."

With a sudden jolt, a resounding pound stuck the metal door with a shocking amount of force.

Harleen squealed, startled by the outburst. The guard reached for his gun holster with inexperienced hands as he kept the doctor at a distance. "Stand back, Ms. Quinzel"

A grating noise of scraping metal could be heard on other side, a painful shrill that was reminiscent of something or someone scratching against it.

Harleen felt the heat of the rushing blood through her ears, a common physical response to a startling cause; however, her mind stood juxtapose in calm regard.

The interrogation room door creaked with a sour metallic opening, sitting ajar with no following movement to have someone exit the cramped room.

The guard became distracted and nervous, calling for help at the end of the hallway. "We have a situation down here in Section D!" His pistol was drawn, but his hands were shaky.

The action confused Harleen, making her edgy and anxious about her patient. For all she knew, that tart woman could have harmed her Joker. The doctor dove forward on fragile legs, reaching for the handle without care for herself but for the maniac inside.

"Dr. Quinzel, wait!"

The door swung wide on hinges half broken, smacking the blonde in the temple and sending her to the floor unconscious. The guard, unaware or perhaps uncaring of the open door, dropped to one knee to assess her injury and assure her vital signs were still cooperating.

Armed policemen, the same men who had escorted Ms. Dawes, and Arkham guards rushed down the open hallway to contain the inmate, guns in hand and prepared for drastic action.

The Joker emerged holding his lawyer by her lower jaw, pushing her forward as a human shield. His weapon of choice was the thin chain from his cuffs, biting into the delicate flesh of her throat. The Joker's jumpsuit was missing a button or two while the woman's dark hair was mussed; her clothes matted and torn, as if he had fought and she resisted.

Obviously, the Joker had won.

"Let the woman go and put your hands in the air slowly." The new guard was on his feet again, pointing the gun in the general direction of the Joker. The technique was novice and boorish. Worst of all, this man was playing hero when he couldn't muster the courage to hold the gun without his fingers trembling.

The Joker eyes were wild with disgust.

Callused hands tightened the gleaming chain around the attorney's neck to emphasis the situation; the young woman sputtered some curse that was indecipherable as her face turned a peculiar shade of red. As an automated response, Ms. Dawes' hands clutched at chain with little hope of loosening it.

The inmate clucked his tongue to admonish the guard. "You think you have the balls to pull the trigger when there's a hostage blocking your aim?" There was no makeup; still, the frown twisted the scars on his face into a gruesome veneer.

An older, balding residential doctor of the asylum pushed his way past the near impervious force of armed men. Well suited and unfurled in a rather professional manner, the man implored the others to lower their weapons so that he may speak to the scarred man in peace.

The captain of the guard scrutinized the doctor with grave resolve, wanting a nonviolent resolution as much as anyone but aware that it was an unlikely prospect.

Still, he indulged the doctor, lifting his hand and lowering it in an authoritative manner.

All weapons were down but only for the time being.

The doctor amused the inmate with a firm but sympathetic tone. "Listen, we can figure this out together. We can negotiate something." As a precaution, three broad built male nurses lingered on the far side of the commotion, not quite out of sight but more so, out of mind.

Joker squinted torrid blue eyes that were critical and cruel, observing the doctor as if everything should be so evident. "You know, you're all so predictable, the dashing hero over there to save the day…" He paused, indicating the guard that was crouched once more at Dr. Quinzel's side.

"…and the good doctor to care for the patient. No, no. I'm not here to negotiate. I'm more of a man of action." Unceremoniously, the small unit of men, both aloof security and wary nurses, moved closer to corner the perpetrator and victim. Joker flinched in aversion, contorting his features in an undignified scowl.

The doctor resorted to fear tactics, an extreme measure but affective with some obstinate criminals. "These men are going to hurt you if you don't give up the girl."

Joker's eyebrows arched; he held up a finger as his voice elevated with interest. "Now that's where the predictability ends. They're not here to hurt me." He pointed a crooked finger at the escort policemen.

The doctor's face fell, confused. "What?"

Selina wrenched forward from her captor's clutch, screaming. "Now!"

Half the policemen in the corridor turned on the guards, causing chaos and confusion. One by one, they began disarming and rendering the other men incapacitated any way possible, dead or alive.

Seline lunged at the nurses, sliding her leg beneath one to take out his knee cap and extending her elbow to strike another in the lower abdomen. The third nurse crushed her left shoulder with an acute and unavoidable grip, yet the adrenaline rushing through every pore of Selina's body denied the silent pain and compelled her to act on instinct, moving a step back and handling her weight as a catalyst to throw the large man over her shoulder.

The Joker, on the other hand, walked through the mounting bodies of uniformed men to the exit of the holding cells with a comfortable swagger. Though, for some unknown reason, he halted at the body of Dr. Quinzel, allowing himself a brief glance at her prone form before moving on.

Grabbing a set of keys from the groaning nurse, Selina followed, bypassing cells full of screaming convicts begging to be let loose. There were still two more matters of business to attend.

Turning the corner down an isolated corridor, her heels clicked against the rough stone floor with accelerated pace as the doors of the isolation section came into view. Her pace slowed at the first two bolted doors, unlocking both with deft fingers.

A grumbling voice, indicative to a bear's growl, erupted from the corners of the first dank cell.

"What do you want?" The gravel tone was condescending with not a single hint of irony. It didn't escape the convict's perception that a young woman in a tattered business suit and dark tousled hair was standing in his cell doorway, breathing hard with determined eyes.

He may have lost his dignity and good sense, but he still had his sight. Surprise was just beyond him; he was no longer a man who had the luxury to enjoy such things.

"I'm here for your assistance." She humored his inquiry, answering with distinct ambiguity.

"For what?" The annoyance in his every breath suggested destruction to anyone and everyone, a blatant indication of a jaded, empty man.

Her chin leveled an inch higher, her slanted smile anything but sweet. "The Batman."

Harvey Dent roared as only a spurned man with no guise to Gotham's cruelty could, angry with a blind vengeance that could not be sated. With half of his face covered by thin, white gauze, Dent, once Gotham's salvation, was imprisoned by the very people he had sworn to protect.

With a calm reverie, Selina slunk to the other cell, watching as Dr. Crane attempted to unhook his straightjacket with little progress.

Refined and lucid, Crane had a sinister lull, perpetuating the mystery behind his understanding. "And how are you going to do that exactly?"

She was not intimidated, her reply strong and simple. "…with your help."

The disgraced, former psychiatrist was intrigued but unbelieving. "Really?"

"Stay here or come with me." Her resolve left no room for argument.

"Well, I guess I don't have much of choice, do I?" The notion was self-disparaging, heightened by the stretching sound of his struggle against the straight jacket.

With a particular satisfied air, the criminal woman sashayed to Crane and untied his bindings.

With an awkward grace as if a shared effort of two persons, Dent ambled out into the corridor and approached the woman. "We can't just walk outta here." Dent's observance was limited by his work as a law-abiding citizen.

"Watch me." Selina laughed as her figure disappeared, running to the deeper end of the corridor.

Both men followed in hot pursuit without a word.

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Just to clear a few things up, I know technically that Harvey Dent died in "The Dark Knight". The movie script is online if you want to read it, and it states that Harvey dies. But I'm one of the few that argue he lived (there's no casket in the funeral scene!) and wanted to keep him alive for my story. I think he provides a nice parallel and contrast to Batman.

And Master of the Boot helped reaffirm my decision that Harleen **will not** be part of this story. So this is the last you will see of her. Also, Bruce Wayne and more of the good guys will appear in the next chapter. I just wanted to get this chapter out before school and work becomes too demanding.

Also, I'm still working with two other authors/fans for a Batman animation and if anyone is interested in this project, PM me for more information. Thanks.


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